Center of the World
by LikeableTarsier
Summary: Zack lives and dreams in the days before Nibelheim.
1. Chapter 1

He wakes up to the doubletime staccato of his heartbeat, his ragged gasps echoing off the ceiling. He can't remember the dream. The sour aftertaste of fear is heavy on his tongue. His hands grope blindly across the nightstand until his knuckles graze cardboard. The pack falls; the sudden dull thud sends a jolt through his body. Zack eases his lighter out of the side of the pack and lights a cigarette, hunched into himself. A deep drag and he relaxes into his pillow.

He sighs, exhaling the dream in a lazy curl of smoke that twines once around his fingers before dissipating. Only vague impressions linger: a weary smile and blue, blue eyes.

Dust motes drift in the muted sunlight seeping through the blinds. He glances at his clock.

9:47.

He's up, tugging on crumpled fatigues and reaching for his PHS, jamming it in his pocket and staggering to the bathroom. Splash of cold water on the face, into the mouth, rough fingers through his hair. He's halfway to the kitchenette (and halfway into his shirt) before he realizes: it's Saturday.

He's uncomfortable, disoriented. He brews a pot of ShinRa commissary brand coffee, strong and inky black. It's barely done when he pours the first mug and gulps it down, hot enough to kill his taste buds so he won't have to taste the second cup. He refills the mug and takes it back to the bedroom.

He sets it on the battered fake-wood nightstand. His lighter is resting near the edge. He picks it up to slide it back into the pack.

It's cool and smooth in his palm. The metal is so battered its hard to make out the engraving from scratches, but he remembers the cactuar design well. He found the thing years ago, playing in the gritty dirt around the reactor back home. Everyone at school thought it was so damn cool. He started smoking just to live up to his own reputation. Caught hell for it from his parents too, but he never got rid of the lighter. It survived Wutai and since then he's never gone on a mission without it. It's heavy weight is cool and reassuring in his palm. It takes three minutes of sitting on the edge of the sagging mattress, warming the lighter in his hands, for him to realize he's in Junon. On Monday they depart for Del Sol, and then Nibelheim.


	2. Chapter 2

0545 hrs, Monday.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zack can see the watery sunrise glinting off the waves. The sky is more blue than grey by now, but the loading dock is in the deep, clammy shade of Upper Junon. Cloud and the other blue-costumed regular are whispering nervously, huddled close to fend off the chilly fog rising off the bay. They are impatient and excited in the face of their first real mission. Zack folds his arms over his chest. He isn't cold so much as damp, in the insidious humidity of early-August Junon, but he's fighting off a shiver all the same.

Cloud's sudden hush draws Zack back to his surroundings. They stand at attention as Sephiroth strides onto the dock, just over two minutes late. Zack can see he isn't pleased; he wonders which sorry excuse for a bureaucrat held him up. The General's is mouth is set in a thin, hard line.

"At ease," he snaps.

He is as ruthless and efficient in this as in all things. He outlines their itinerary-- by boat to Del Sol, then the Cosmo Canyon route by truck to Nibelheim. Estimated arrival is in three days, 1900 hours Nibel time. He doesn't take questions.

Sephiroth isn't the type for "hurry up and wait". He leans more toward "hurry up or I'll leave you here." Zack's lips twist wryly. Departure is at 0600. They hurry.

It's just as well. Cloud's already looking pale, and Zack's been breathing shallow since he got to the dock. Midgar's pervasive brown smog has desensitized him to the smell of the garbage floating just off-shore, but the smell of fish, of rot, bothers him. He's eager for fresh breeze over open water.


	3. Chapter 3

He's on the deck, mid-morning sun heating the back of his neck, seeping into his skin and warming away the tension in the span of his shoulders. He leans over the rail, letting the stiff breeze rake his hair away from his face. It's the cleanest air in the world, he thinks, except perhaps in the desolate northern mountains.

He feels more alive than he has in months. Aeris would love it out here, despite the lack of solid ground for plants to grow in. The air is thick with energy, with the promise of life. Seagulls cartwheel overhead, freefalling through the endless blue sky toward the endless blue waves, leveling off with wingtips barely kissing the water before climbing into another dive. They aren't hunting; seagulls are scavengers, he remembers hearing that. They are flying for nothing but the sheer joy of it, the sun on the water and the wind in their feathers.

Yeah, next time he gets leave, they'll get out of the city, he thinks. Go somewhere nice, take his bike out for a picnic somewhere they can actually breathe the air. Maybe even go camping, stay out for a few days.

Cloud's leaning on the rail a few feet away. He's gazing far away, unfocused, in a staring match with the horizon.

"See the future yet?" Zack asks, pulling his cigarettes out of his uniform pocket.

Cloud shakes his head minutely, not daring to open his mouth. He's so white in the bright sun he's starting to look green. Zack knows just what to do about that.

"Private Strife," a formal voice cuts in from behind.

Cloud jumps about a foot in the air, whirls around rapidly and pulls himself into a rigid salute.

"At ease," Sephiroth says, quietly. "If you are feeling unwell, perhaps you should go below deck."

Cloud relaxes a fraction, immediately looking the worse for it. Zack chuckles around the cigarette in his mouth, cupping his hand around the lighter to shield the flame.

"I'll be fine, sir," Cloud mutters, eyes going unfocused. He clamps his mouth shut tight on the last word. Zack snorts. He takes a quick drag, then cuts in.

"He means he's going to puke either way, Sir, and it will make less of a mess up here."

Cloud glares at him, a hot flush creeping up his neck. It's an interesting look, red and green, like Christmas in July. Or August, as it were. He laughs, blowing smoke in Cloud's general direction.

"Catain Fair, a moment of your time," The general commands, his voice still hushed but his tone sharp.

"Sir."

Zack shrugs himself off of the rail. He follows Sephiroth at a quick stride, boots clomping loud on the concrete deck. They stop out of earshot. Sephiroth's voice is almost toneless as he asks,

"Why are you smoking? You know the smell will make him ill."

Zack struggles to keep his eyebrows from dissapearing into his hairline. Luckily he's had plenty of practice. ShinRa executives have their little quirks, and the ability to maintain a neutral expression has kept him in the job more than once.

"Yes, but I wasn't aware you knew. Sir."

"It is my responsibility to ensure all of our soldiers are in peak condition," he says, but he isn't meeting Zack's eyes.

"Of course, sir," Zack says smoothly, ducking his face to hide a grin. This is a good thing. A few months ago it wouldn't have occurred to Sephiroth that a soldier's nausea was a possibility, never mind that it was anything to concern himself with. And now Sephiroth is reprimanding Zack for smoking. He grins.

"Sir, he's going to feel better when he gets it over with," Zack nods toward Cloud, who is gripping the bar white-knuckled. "I'm just hurrying things along."

Sephiroth looks uncertain. His eyes slide over Zack's shoulder to the slight, tense form hunched over the rail.

"As you were, then," he finally says, crossing his arms over his chest. The leather of his coat sleeves gives a vaguely dissatisfied creak.

"Right-o, sir!" Zack tosses off a sloppy salute and a much more practiced wink. He struts back to the starboard rail.

The sun warmed metal feels good against his back.

"All right, buddy?" He asks, giving Cloud a gentle nudge, 'coincidentally' wafting smoke under the blonde's nose.

"Is he gone yet?" Cloud asks, eyes clenched shut, mouth drawn into a grimace.

"Yep," Zack says as a final hint of silver vanishes into the stairwell.

Cloud whimpers faintly, once. The next sound he makes is somewhere between mini-ShinRa's overgrown cat coughing up a hairball and the death rattle of an elfadunk.

"Oh, hey, easy there," he starts murmuring nonsense syllables, efficiently smoothing that crazy blonde hair, always surprisingly soft, away from Cloud's face. He moves to rubbing slow, firm circles in the small of Cloud's back as the kid doubles over and dry heaves.

He flicks the cigarette out of his hand. Caught in the breeze, it makes a long, clean arc into the water. Zack watches but can't see the exact moment it is engulfed, extinguished. He thinks of the graceful flight of seagulls.

Cloud leans further over the rail and vomits.


	4. Chapter 4

It's early evening when they arrive in Costa Del Sol. Cloud staggers onto the dock, pale and shaken. True to Zack's prediction, he felt better after vomiting, but within an hour he'd felt worse again, and had proceeded to vomit multiple times for the rest of the trip. He really hates sea travel.

Zack shoulders his bag and holds out an arm for Cloud's. Cloud smiles weakly.

"Thanks," he whispers, heaving the black canvas duffle over, then clams up as Sephiroth emerges onto the dock. The General motions for them to follow, giving an appraising look to Zack's double load. Cloud falls in with Private Andrews, a few feet behind Zack. It's a short walk to the hotel, but the air is humid and still hot from the strong afternoon sun. Zack can feel his uniform shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back and his feet are swampy in his boots.

The cool air of the lobby hits him like a shot of phoenix down-- it wakes him up, but within moments he can feel every weary ache down to his bones. He longingly eyes the worn, sun-bleached wicker furniture by the window, but stands with Cloud and Andrews. Andrews is shifting his weight impatiently from side to side as Sephiroth checks them in. The cute brunette receptionist drops the keys, gaping and wide-eyed, but eventually she hands them over and gasps out, "Have a nice stay."

Sephiroth turns away. The receptionist leans her chin on her hand and sighs. Zack catches the slight twitch of irritation in the general's face as he returns to the group.

"You are free to do as you please tonight; however," and Sephiroth looks at Zack, "we regroup at 0600 tomorrow. Don't be late."

He hands a key to Cloud, and adds quietly, "Try to hydrate, Private."

Cloud nods a sharp affirmative.

"Dismissed," Sephiroth says.

"Sir!" The Privates chime, saluting in unison. Andrews nudges Cloud, and they scuttle upstairs.

"Are we sharing?" Zack asks, hefting his bag. He realizes he still has Cloud's ShinRa issue rucksack, but he's going to find Cloud as soon as he changes anyway. He wants to sit on the beach and watch the sun set, preferably with an ice cold girly drink, and he isn't going to do it alone.

Sephiroth nods. In one smooth motion he turns and shoulders his pack, avoiding masamune's length strapped across his back. It's a completely impractical sword, in terms of travel, but Zack has no room to speak. The buster's solid weight is at his back, constant and reassuring. He can't sleep without it close at hand, and he knows Sephiroth is the same.

Their room is upstairs at the end of the hall. The lock slides open easily, but the door creaks as it swings in. It's a small room, cozy, but it feels open. Sephiroth moves to look out the window on the far wall, facing out over the water. The blue gauzy curtains flutter just a little against warm adobe walls. Zack drops his bag with a thud, being slightly more careful with Cloud's (never know when the kid's going to start smuggling contraband), and sits heavily on the twin bed nearer the door. He pulls on the laces of his boots, and tugs them off with a relieved sigh. His socks follow, balled up and thrown towards his bag.

"Sweet Shiva, that's heaven," he says, laying back on the thin mint green comforter, spreading his toes in the air.

Sephiroth frowns, but there's a tell-tale twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"I can smell your feet from here," he says.

"You can smell Scarlet coming from three floors down," Zack retorts.

"That has more to do with Scarlet's perfume that with my 'acute' sense of smell."

"Maybe," Zack hums. He peels out of his shirt, then squats on the floor to sort through his bag. He comes up with flip flops, a white cotton tank top (only a little wrinkly) and two pairs of swim trunks. One pair is deep blue, the other is bright yellow with a floral pattern in pink and day-glo orange. He chooses the yellow.

There's no point in showering. It's still muggy outside and he might swim later. Guaranteed he'll get sand somewhere it shouldn't be. He changes quickly.

"What do you think?" he asks, standing up to display the goods.

Sephiroth snorts.

"If you come in late, don't wake me."

"If I come in at all, I'll keep that in mind." Zack winks lasciviously. "You should get out to watch the sunset, I hear it's amazing."

Sephiroth hums noncommittally. "Strife's in room 204. Don't encourage him to drink."

"That was just one time!" Zack ignores Sephiroth's pointed look. "Right, see you later."

Zack takes Cloud's pack and the other trunks. His sandals make satisfyingly loud slaps against the soles of his feet as he walks down the hall. He knocks briskly on the hardwood door. There is a loud thump, followed by hurried footsteps, and the door opens.

"Sir," Cloud says uncertainly, peering past Zack's shoulder into the hall.

"We're off-duty," Zack reminds him, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. The bathroom door is half-open and he can hear the shower running.

"I brought your stuff," he says, tossing the duffle bag onto one of the beds. "Get changed, we're going out."

"Zack…"

"I'll buy you dinner. You haven't eaten all day."

Cloud glares at him.

"That's because I was puking all day."

"I know, you must be hungry!" Zack says, grinning widely. He wads up the shorts and throws them at Cloud's face. Cloud catches them. His reflexes are much better than they used to be.

"Put those on. Oh, you might want to brush your teeth. Your breath is horrible."

Cloud rolls his eyes openly. It makes Zack proud, to see how far he's come from the shy backwater boy he met almost two years ago.

"Gimmie a minute," Cloud says, slouching into the bathroom. Zack sinks onto the bed, half-listening through the door to Andrews' easy chatter and Cloud's grunted replies.

---

Walking down the boardwalk to the beach, they pass tiny booths in which pretty, bikini-clad girls wave decorative paper fans, wafting the foreign smells of spicy peppers, curry, smoky barbeque, stir-frying vegetables, and perfumed sugary candies. It's what he imagined Wutai would smell like, before the war. By the time he got to the capital, in had stunk only of burning wood, melted plastic, hot, tangy metal, and the sticky sweet oily smoke that clung to everything, that got in their pores so that for weeks after they all reeked of charred flesh.

Zack passes by 'Dan's Bar-B-Q' for a booth selling steamed vegetables wrapped in thick, flat bread.

"You should eat something plain," he says to Cloud, who nods and asks for the same thing Zack's having. Zack orders two, and a bottle of water. They take their food on paper plates and walk to the beach. Zack stops at an open-air bar to buy a large, icy drink that has purple and turquoise layers.

The beach is less crowded than he expected. They find two lounge chairs easily. Zack leans back in his, warm plastic strips sticking to the backs of his arms. Cloud's finished his wrap already. Zack hands his plate over.

There is a light breeze blowing out to the water. It rustles through the leafy palms, carrying the scent of tropical fruit and cheap jasmine incense.

Three girls are shrieking and running through the surf, kicking water at each other. Late season tourists, probably, too fair-haired to be from here. One is a particularly busty blonde. Her tan is definitely fake, her hair color likely is too, and he's willing to bet her chest isn't real either. It's bouncing perkily though, and he's enjoying the view.

Cloud hums contentedly, licking his fingers clean. He takes a long swallow of water; Zack watches the slow stretch of his neck, the bead of moisture running down his cheek to the angle of his jaw.

"You should put on sunscreen," he says, tossing the bottle at Cloud's lap. Come prepared, that's something he learned from training that was worth remembering. It's better to have something and not need it, than to need it and not have it.

"It's almost sunset," Cloud complains, but he's grinning. He takes his shirt off and slathers the sunscreen on thick. With fair skin like his, Zack won't be surprised if he burns anyway.

"Thanks," he says, and tosses it back. The bottle lands heavily, kicking up sand.

"I'm going to swim, are you coming?"

"Nah, think I'll stay here," Zack says, and wiggles back into the chair for emphasis.

Cloud takes off running down the beach, all long limbs and awkward coltish grace. The borrowed trunks, laced tight, are still almost falling off. Cloud's not as skinny as he used to be, though. He's been putting in long hours, training with sword and rifle and lifting weights in the gym, in addition to regular PT. Zack can see muscle starting to define itself on his back, in the angled light; latissimus and trapezius sculpting his shoulders and flanks, and erector spinae creating two dimples in the small of his back, right above the waistband of Cloud's shorts. Dimples that he finds irresistible in women.

"Hi," a sweet voice warbles.

Zack jerks his head up, startled. It's the blonde from the beach, holding two coconuts with little pink umbrellas and slices of pineapple sticking out of the top.

"Hello," he says, giving his most charming smile, the one that says, 'I may not be the best looking man here but I'll sure as hell show you the best time.' He's been practicing that smile; now that he's 18 and he can finally badger Sephiroth into joining him at Midgar's many bars and clubs, he's going to need it.

"Um," and she blushes. This girl, in a barely there red string bikini, with absolutely impossible breasts, blushes.

Whatever his allure is, he's still got it, he thinks.

"You looked like you could use another drink," she says, gesturing to his empty glass with one coconut. The drink slops onto her hand. Not in the least fazed, she licks it as it drips down her wrist.

"Absolutely. Please, join me," he gestures to the chair Cloud vacated. He watches appreciatively as she bends over to delicately set the drinks in the sand. She sits in the chair and scoots backward, jiggling. Every move she makes is calculated, but he doesn't care. He's 18 years old and it's a free show.

"I'm Zack."

"Tina," she says, "Cheers."

He gently knocks his coconut against hers. He takes a sip. It's icy cold and artificially sweet, without any obvious flavor other than the pineapple floating in it, but it burns pleasantly on the way down.

"So what brings you to sunny Costa Del Sol?" he asks. She stirs her drink with a neon purple straw.

"Fun and sun," she replies lightly, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head. More jiggle. This girl is trying too hard.

"The same," he says, matching her breezy tone. "Where are your friends?"

"Oh, they went dancing. I'm not much of a dancer," she says, smiling in a way that implies she's better at a different kind of dancing. Zack represses a snort.

I'm sure you are," he says, watching the sky's pink blush fade to orange. The sun is sitting fat and lazy on the water.

"Is that your brother? You have the same hair."

Zack laughs into this drink.

"Just a friend."

"Okay, listen, why don't we leave your friend to it and get out of here?"

Zack blinks, too surprised to play it off.

"Well?" She asks, tapping her perfect manicure against the coconut shell. He's tempted. It's been a long day; a long week, and it would be nice to forget it all, to forget about this mission and the vaguely uneasy feeling he's had since they left Midgar, to lose himself in skin and mouth and hair. Zack looks at his drink. In the fading sun, the little pink umbrella is the exact color of Aeris's favorite hair ribbon.

"Nah," he says, tossing back a big gulp of the drink. It was free, after all.

"Your loss," she huffs. She takes her time walking away, swinging her hips and running her hands through her hair. He laughs too loud, quickly chokes it down around the straw. The drink isn't too bad if he swallows fast.

The sun is bisected on the horizon, dying the sky and water bloody red. Against it, Cloud's silhouette ambles up the beach, moving impossibly slow until he sheds the shadows and is suddenly close, bathed in the dying glow.

"Who was that?" He asks, dropping to the sand with a giddy smile. His hair is shining coppery on the backs of his arms. The fine down on his face catches the light, tracing his profile in sharp crimson.

"No one."

The girl left her drink in her hurry to make a grand exit. Zack leans over and swipes it, popping his own straw in and sipping.

"Mmkay."

Cloud leans against his side, his wet hair cool on Zack's stomach. He twitches; a fine tremor runs through Cloud's body.

"Are you cold?"

He leans over and pulls a fluffy white hotel towel from under his chair. He wraps it around Cloud's shoulders before he answers.

"There are fish in the water," Cloud offers instead, pulling the towel closer around himself. "Little orange ones, and a long silver one that chased them away."

"Hunting," Zack mumbles, staring into the coconut. He thinks the drink is mostly rum. It tastes all right now, soft and mellow around the edges. A nice warm buzz has settled in his brain.

They sit quietly in the warm breeze, watching for the sun to sink out of sight. The moment before it finally gives in, everything goes still. In the hush Zack can hear a slow reggae beat coming from the bar, pulsing in the thick air. The last line of fire is hanging over the water, frozen; it shivers and disappears. A high wail echoes across the waves, ululating, like the sky is crying out against the night.

"What was that?" Cloud whispers slowly.

"Whales," Zack's mouth says, and he realizes it is. They sit, very still, as a series of guttural clicks draws out a swooping chirp in response. He thinks he could reach out and touch the sound shaping the air. The song resonates through their bodies, holding them motionless, not blinking, barely breathing, until it stops as suddenly as it began, in a dying gasp. In their awed silence he can feel that first cry vibrating in his soul.

Awareness fades in gradually. The sky is indigo trimmed in violet.

"It's late," he says quietly, pushing himself out of the chair. The plastic peels reluctantly away from his skin. He holds out his hand; Cloud's palm is warm in his. They walk slowly to the hotel in the cooling night wind, gazing up to see the first stars come out. By the time they reach the hotel Cloud is shivering. It's warmer inside, but he keeps Zack's towel wrapped snug around his shoulders. They stop at Cloud's door. In the moonlight the towel is gleaming white; Cloud's hair is pale, his skin is pale, his eyes are dark and unreadable. He lets the towel slide off, hangs it over Zack's shoulders like a mantle. The tendons in his neck flex silvery like barracuda.

"Good night," he whispers, and leans in to brush a kiss, just a ghost of touch, to Zack's mouth. Cloud's lips are warm and chapped, and it's the most natural things in the world to lean in, to open his mouth and taste, lick the ocean salt from Cloud's skin. The hot, slick press of a tongue against his sends electricity sparking through his veins; he breathes out hard though his nose and slides his hands up the smooth skin of Cloud's back to pull him close. A soft moan echoes in the hallway; he pulls back, not sure who made it or if it matters.

"Stop," he says, pushing himself away, staring down the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.

"Why?"

Cloud's voice is empty and flat. Zack shuts his eyes against it.

"I can't."

Cloud's standing with his arms wrapped tight around himself, staring at nothing, more lost than Zack has ever seen him. He leaves him in the hall with no apologies, no room to wonder 'what if', no room to question. It's easier that way.


	5. Chapter 5

He closes the door quietly. Sephiroth is lying down, facing the window, but he turns toward the soft click of the latch. Zack rushes to the bathroom, not ready for the questions Sephiroth will ask, unsure of the answers himself. He locks the door behind him and presses his back to the wall, heart racing. His blood is running hot, and he wonders if he can keep quiet enough that Sephiroth won't hear him through the thin walls, won't hear his muffled gasps. He wonders if it would be worth it.

Sephiroth can probably smell it on him. He runs the tap as cold as it will go and cups his hands, ducks his face into the quiet lake of his palms.

He hits the light switch before opening the bathroom door. He slides into bed, the sheets cool and rough against his flushed skin. Through the window he hears a staggered rasping. Cicadas, he realizes. They are louder than he remembers them being. It's been years since he heard cicadas droning, not since home, he thinks, breath slowing. Hot summer nights in Gongaga, he would sneak outside and lay in the grass, sticky and damp, watching steam rise from the forest to veil the stars.

There were cicadas in Wutai too, or something similar. He remembers suddenly the muggy, sweltering nights in cramped tents, sleeping naked and suffocated in mosquito netting, wishing it would rain and drown the damn bugs, drown out the endless roar of the cicadas, the occasional impotent rumble of thunder, the heavy, rhythmic breathing of the other men, occasionally rough and fast with choked whimpers-- sex and nightmares indistinguishable in the static of nocturnal sounds. He remembers the night in finally rained. They went to sleep easily in the slightly cooler air, and woke hours later blanketed in muddy water. The flood carried leeches and snakes and poison toads. In the rush to avoid snakebite, to cure status ailments, leech bites were trivial. Scouting the next day, they discovered a natural flood channel that had been banked, diverting the water to their camp, the nearest low ground. From then on they made camp in the hills. Days later, several men fell ill, squatting over the latrines for hours, unable to eat, temperatures spiking. Three died, sweating and screaming, eyes fever bright and unseeing. He can still hear one of the men, crying out for his wife and child, for his mother, then just a wordless shriek that subsided as his brain cooked in his skull, the--

"Zack!"

He thrashes wildly, has to get free, they're holding him down in the water, can't breathe, leeches crawling on his face and his arms--

"Zack, wake up!"

Sephiroth is sitting on his chest, strong arms pinning him to the bed. The quicksilver spill of hair over his shoulder is tickling Zack's shoulders, his cheek. He shudders.

"Nightmare," he rasps, throat dry.

"I can see that," Sephiroth says dryly. Pale grey light is climbing in over the windowsill.

"Sorry I woke you."

Sephiroth shrugs. "It's time."


	6. Chapter 6

The rough, jolting ride in the truck is getting to him. The boat was okay; at least he could breathe. The truck is too confined, hot and stuffy. He feels trapped, suffocated… His headache is back; he feels like he's swimming in mud. Cloud, poor kid, looks like he'd put his ShinRa issue rifle in his mouth if he weren't afraid to open it. He's pale and silent, and looks as though he hasn't slept in days.

Zack breathes deeply and concentrates on Gongaga, where they may stop on the return trip, time permitting. It's been almost eight years since he's seen his parents. He wonders if they look different now. His father's hair was graying when he left. He wonders if fine lines have grown deep and craggy on his weathered, solemn face. His father didn't smile much. His mother's smile was kind and toothy, but he can't picture it. He thinks about his own face instead, thinking 'my father's jaw, a crooked broken nose that looks like Grandpa Jim's. He had his mothers eyes before, a deep stormy grey. Now his eyes are blue, in some bizarre combination of nature and the mako burning through his veins. The day he left, before dawn, she was watching out the window when he looked back one last time to see her face. So it could live in his memories, he thought, but now all he sees is her eyes, so sad and tired.

He thinks about Del Sol, and Tina, and too many drinks; about Reasons. Zack knows he has Reasons. They were clear to him last night, in the stillness and the quiet. Today he's sober but the rain is dismal, fogging his mind more than liquor. There are laws against fraternization, but he's broken them before; breaks them every day just by being friends with Cloud and nobody's said anything. Either they don't care or Sephiroth is running interference. Aeris... but he's slept around before, and Cloud knows it. It's never meant anything, and he's not sure if it would with Cloud. Not sure if Cloud wants something he can't give, or if _he_ wants something that isn't real. He leans his head back against the truck wall, listening to the angry shudder of rain on metal.

"Did you see the sunset, sir?" he asks Sephiroth.

"No," Sephiroth replies coldly, glaring as if to imply that Zack should know better than to disturb The General while he's thinking about a mission.

"Nibelheim is better," Cloud murmurs, with something like pride in his voice. It's the first thing he's said about his hometown since they left Midgar. It's the first time he's mentioned Nibelheim with anything other than bitterness.

"It sure is raining hard," Zack says, to fill the silence. Cloud leans forward, arms resting heavily on his knees. He looks so fragile in ShinRa blue.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Zack asks, wondering if they should maybe pull over for a bit. They don't have to be at the reactor until tomorrow, after all.

Cloud looks up at him, eyes deep blue and impenetrable, like thunderheads longing to empty their weight onto the thirsting earth. Zack stands up, stretching stiff muscles. Vertebrae in his back snap dully. He paces restlessly. Andrews coughs.

"Everything okay?" Zack asks, stopping in front of Andrews and folding his arms across his chest.

"Hey," Sephiroth snaps to get his attention. "Settle down."

Zack moves to the middle of the truck and does squats, just to piss him off. He really shouldn't be provoking Sephiroth. The General is always short with him, with everyone. The bigwigs really need to let him out to play more often.

"You going to brief us about his mission?" Zack asks, because he can see that twitch starting in Sephiroth's temple.

"This isn't a typical mission…"


	7. Chapter 7

Zack's first impression of Nibelheim is the quiet. It's a small town, like Gongaga, but in Gongaga the people were never still. City-folk might see it as a sleepy little town, but behind their easy attitudes, everyone knew everything about everybody else, or made it their business to find out. Gongaga never lacked for going-ons, and gossip spread in the wind like dandelion seed. From the main road into Nibelheim, he can't see anyone. The town feels… dead. The mako stink is lingering thick in the air, without steady rain to drive it into the soil.

"How does it feel?"

Zack stops, surprised at Sephiroth's sudden question. He feels pressure building at the back of his skull, a sort of fog creeping into his thoughts.

"It's your first time back to your hometown in a long time, right? So how does it feel?"

Sephiroth is looking at Cloud expectantly. Cloud gapes, a slow flush spreading up from his collar.

"I wouldn't know because I don't have a hometown…" Sephiroth continues.

And isn't that odd. The General never speaks superfluously, almost never asks even _relevant_ questions of the regulars. He's friendly with Zack, in a reserved way, when they are off-duty, but he's never shown curiosity toward Cloud beyond duty-related issues.

"Umm… how 'bout your parents?" Cloud asks uncertainly, like he doesn't know if the General is really speaking to him. In these surroundings, he's already easing into the abbreviated Nibel dialect Zack remembers from their first meeting.

"My mother is Jenova. She died right after she gave birth to me. My father…" Sephiroth's laugh is hollow, flat, not his typical sardonic snort or infrequent rich deep laugh. "What does it matter…? All right, let's go."

The General is all business once more. He turns abruptly and walks to the town square. Zack, around the dull ache pounding at his temples, is relieved. He considers talking to Cloud, who is blank faced in a way Zack knows is hiding some deeper emotion.

Maybe later. They're on duty. He marches across the still-muddy cobblestones into the square, the regulars' heavy boot steps close behind. Sephiroth turns toward them as they draw close.

"We leave for the reactor at dawn. Make sure you get to sleep early," he commands, then starts toward the inn. He stops, framed in the open door, with a distracted tension in the line of his back.

"All we need is one lookout," he nods to Andrews.

Cloud makes an abortive gesture with his arm.

"Oh, that's right… You may visit your family and friends."

And Sephiroth disappears into the inn.

Zack studies Cloud, considers, and decides he needs to think about what to say. Shiva knows he's messed up before, hurt Cloud, by speaking carelessly. It's never been this important that he get it right, and now he can barely breathe around the bright pain flashing behind his eyes. He never gets headaches like this, except during mako treatments.

Zack follows his superior into the inn, knowing he'll need every minute of sleep he can get. Hopefully his subconscious will untangle this mess he's made of his thoughts about Cloud.

This time, Zack knows he's dreaming. He sees Cloud, wearing too-baggy Soldier fatigues. His fatigues, he knows. It makes perfect sense in the way that dreams do. He doesn't object when Cloud kisses him, a moth-wing touch of lips, almost nothing, almost not there at all. Like the echo of laughter in a hidden room in a forgotten town.

"Come with me," Cloud says, but doesn't say. He's smiling too wide to be talking. His eyes are unbearably bright, unreal like sun through glacier ice, like the afterimage of lightning.

Zack follows, pacing slowly as Cloud runs ahead, clumsy in his oversized combat boots. Zack's feet are bare; he presses them into sandy boot prints.

"Breadcrumbs," he thinks, and he is in a dim, green-shaded glade. A flash of yellow through the heavy boughs of pine draws his eye.

"Wait!" he shouts.

Cloud is laughing, sprinting away. Zack tries to catch him, is running but not moving. The trees melt and reform around him, dark and strange. He stops and rests on a sun-warmed boulder.

"Are you lost?" Cloud's voice sings in his hear. He looks up-- they are in a rocky, barren clearing. Cloud moves away, revealing a roughly hewn path of dangerous, razor-edged shards.

"Come on!" Cloud shouts, hands on his hips. Zack doesn't want to go, but he can't leave Cloud, so he starts walking. Shadows streak across the sky.

Cloud stays by his side now. It's too quiet: their footsteps should echo, he remembers the echoes. They walk across an endless old bridge that doesn't creak, though he feels vibrations through his soles as the ropes stretch and sway. He looks down. The chasm below fades into darkness.

They're going to that place. He tries to warn Cloud, to stop him, but no words come out. Cloud turns and smiles.

"I kept her safe," he croons.

They're inside a building, and all around is the smell of old iron and salt. A reactor. Zack sees Aeris's sweet smile through a small window of thick glass, through the vivid poisonous green of mako. She has no body.

"I kept her safe," Cloud repeats, gazing at Zack with pleading blue eyes. Zack is caught, unable to look away.

"Don't you want it?" Cloud asks, staring uncertainly at the dull metal grating of the floor.

Zack steps back.

"Cloud…"

"Please take it!" Cloud holds out his cupped hands, determined. Zack reaches to him, clasps his hands over Cloud's.

"It's a secret," Cloud whispers reverently, and opens his hands.

It's a heart, still beating. Aeris's heart, Zack thinks. He backs up until he's trapped against the warm metal of the pod. The Aeris-pod.

"Stay away," he shouts mutely.

Cloud tilts his head curiously. His shirt _Zack's shirt _is soaked in blood, spreading to the beat of the heart in his hands. A puzzled grin stretches Cloud's cheeks.

"Do _you _want it?" Cloud asks, and Sephiroth is there, masamune in hand, dripping viscous and dark. He nods coolly. Cloud holds his heart out like a supplicant offering crude wares, face bowed in shame. Sephiroth bites into it neatly, chews twice and swallows. Blood smears his thin-lipped, aristocratic sneer.

Cloud looks back to Zack. His face crumples in pain.

"I'm lost," he gasps. "Come find me, Zack."

"Zack!"

"Zack, wake up!"

He bolts upright, and he can't breathe, he's gasping for air.

"What is it?" he rasps past the dry, hard lump in his throat and the screaming pressure in his chest. He forces himself to move, to stagger to the door; as he opens it he slumps against the wall. Cloud's waiting, his eyes the impossible blue of support materia, like mako under a thin veneer.

"Sephiroth's missing."

And we know how it ends.

Much of the dialogue from this chapter and the last is lifted right out of the game.


End file.
